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BEFORE LEAVING THE limousine, Blackwell turned into the Blackwell whom I knew and loved, but whom many feared. She pulled a compact from her handbag, checked her face, and snapped it shut without changing a thing.
“Bernie,” she said. “How well he instructs. Shall we?”
Cutter stepped out of the car and came around and opened Blackwell’s door. She pinched his cheek as she stepped out onto the sidewalk, and I followed behind her as she practically glided toward Bergdorf’s entrance, the glass doors of which opened to us as we approached.
Inside, a woman somewhere in her mid-forties was ready to greet us. With her blonde hair wrapped behind her head in a crisp ponytail, and her impeccable white suit accentuating a slim figure, I thought that she was beautiful.
“Chloe,” Blackwell said as the two women kissed each other on both cheeks. “It’s been so long—in fact, I think it was yesterday. Thank you for accommodating us.”
“It’s our pleasure, Barbara.”
“I can always count on you. To have this place to our own is critical, particularly given the situation at hand. You can’t imagine the importance. Or the pressure. It’s all too much, but I know that being here will be the balm that we need. So, thank you again.”
Chloe didn’t respond. Instead, she turned to me.
“You must be Mrs. Wenn?” she said.
“Please call me Jennifer.”
The woman extended her hand, which I shook. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Jennifer. And I’m pleased that we can assist you today. Barbara and I spoke earlier this morning, and we had a meeting of the minds. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to a private dressing area to show you the dress we both think will be perfect for you to wear tonight. It’s something that will set you apart from the rest, if only because it’s not available to anyone else—it just came in. If it doesn’t suit you, I have selected several others for you to consider.”
“I’m sorry if I’ve disrupted your schedule,” I said.
“You haven’t at all. None of this is uncommon. It’s just a service we provide to our best clients. Naturally, you are one of them.”
We took an elevator to the third floor, which was labeled Women: Designer Evening Wear. When we stepped out of the elevator, Blackwell immediately stopped.
“What’s that that I hear?” she asked Chloe.
The woman kept her expression neutral. “Unfortunately, you and Jennifer aren’t the only ones here this morning.”
“But how can that be?”
“Other clients with white-gloved service also expressed an interest in coming early.”
“But I thought it would only be us.”
“Only five clients are in the building,” Chloe assured us. “Including you and Jennifer.”
Blackwell took off her dark glasses and met Chloe’s eyes with her own. “May I ask who else is here?”
But Chloe motioned ahead of us. “I promise you that whatever they want is nothing that could possibly fit Jennifer. Please come this way. You might even know each other.”
“Which would only be worse for us, Chloe. Things could get awkward. Have you even considered that?” She looked toward the ceiling and rolled her eyes. “I’m not pleased,” she called out. “I’m thinking evacuation. I’m thinking Barneys. I’m having second thoughts about all of this.”
“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. You could always come back in an hour. I’m sure they’ll be gone by then.”
And Blackwell stopped dead in her tracks.
“Excuse me?” she said. “You’re asking us to leave? Oh, my dear. If you are, that better be the goddamned Queen of England I’m hearing over there. Nobody asks me to leave—and they sure as hell don’t ask Jennifer Wenn, of all people, to leave.”
The woman started to look flustered, and I felt sorry for her. Why was this such a big deal to Blackwell? It was as if she was marking her territory—and then I realized that at her level, her territory meant everything to her. She was indeed protecting it.
“I can keep you all apart,” Chloe said. “We’ll just go to the dressing room I have ready for you. There’s no need for your paths to cross. Please accept my apology and follow me. The dress I have in mind for you is just over here. It’s the Oscar de la Renta that we discussed. And with him having just passed recently, it’s a find for many reasons. It truly is fantastic—I’d hate for you to leave without at least having a look at it, and perhaps even trying it on.”
“I’ll bet you would,” Blackwell said. “But fine. We’ll look at it. But if this ever happens again, Chloe—”
Her voice trailed off when, off to our left, came the familiar, melodic sounds of a woman’s voice. I tried to place it, but I couldn’t. And so I just listened to it along with Blackwell, whose head had just turned sharply in its direction.
“Looka how thees feet my teets, Mama Guadalupe,” I heard a woman with a heavy Mexican accent say. “Sure, it need to be taken out at the boobies and hauled in at the back, but what else is new? Ever since Chuckie had me go under the knife to turn the girls into a couple of over-stuffed piñatas, everything I wear need to be fitted. Still, look at how the dress move. Look at how it flow. It beautiful. You like? No? Why you no like? It cost thirty grand, for Christ’s sake. Why you always look so peesed off? You living the high life now.”
“In a maid’s uniform,” another, more guttural voice said. “And in a tween bed.”
“That’s right. And you should be grateful for it—I give you work. I feed you. I pay you salary. I bring you to places like thees. Oh, Heyzeus Cristo, stop picking at your mole! I swear to God I’m gonna have that mother lanced. Look at me. Eyes right here. On the dress. Snap out of it. Tell me how I look?”
“Te ves como una perra.”
“You think I look like slut?”
“Sí. Tu padre estaría avergonzado.”
“My Papi, God rest his soul, would never be ashamed of me. Epifania worth five-hundred million. Don’ forget that, cookie. She no slut.”
“If he saw what you become, he faint. That dress fit you tighter than the skin on a blood sausage.”
“Aye yai yai! Why you so crazy like that? What wrong with you?”
“Mi hija look like whore.”
“Whore? Epifania got style. Epifania know what she got. Epifania a star. And by the way, Epifania not the one who wash up on shore in an inner tube wearing nothing but a banana leaf and a couple of coconuts. That be you, lady.”
Bewildered, Blackwell looked at me and then turned to Chloe, who had dropped the façade and now was looking horrified.
“What the hell is that?” Blackwell said.
“Epifania Zapopa and her mother, Guadalupe,” Chloe said.
“Guadalupe? Where the hell am I? San Miguel? Or better yet, San Quentin?”
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea they’d be this vulgar.”
“Tell me, Chloe, why did you let Epifania in here when you knew that I was coming here with Jennifer Wenn to shop? How did that even make sense to you?”
“She’s one of our best customers, Ms. Blackwell.”
“Not like me, she isn’t. Never like me. People call her the loose cannon of Park Avenue—did you even know that?”
“I didn’t.”
“Having heard her just now, does that even sound like a stretch to you?”
“Not after hearing that it doesn’t.”
“Then where is your judgment? I’ve given this dump hundreds of thousands of dollars over the years—both personally and through Wenn. Likely more through Wenn. This is outrageous. Get rid of all of them.”
“Epifania hear the people talking!” her sing-song voice rang out.
“Oh, Jesus,” Blackwell said. “She’s heard us.”
“Of course Epifania hear—this joint is as dead as my husband, Chuckie. But who she hear? That the question. Who want to see Epifania in her maybe new dress?”
And that’s all it took—Blackwell lifted her chin, and her eyes narrowed like a wolf closing in for the kill. “I’d love to see you in your maybe new dress, Epifania. Why don’t you come out, and I’ll give you my honest opinion of it?”
“Who that? Why I know that voice?”
“It’s Barbara Blackwell.”
“Oh, sheet,” Epifania said in a hushed voice. “It’s that crazy lady beetch Blackwell, Mama Guadalupe. The one I told you about once. You know, when you were still living in el barrio? When booze and beans were your best friends, and everything was going bottom’s up for you?”
“Shall we come to you?” Blackwell called.
And then came another voice—a familiar voice. A refined voice.
“Epifania, who are you speaking with?” a woman asked.
“It’s the darkness known as the Blackwell,” Epifania said. “The wicked witch is here.”
“Barbara Blackwell? Well isn’t that interesting. Who is she here with?”
“I don’ know.”
“I bet I do.”
I looked at Blackwell, then at Chloe. “Who is that?” I asked.
“Immaculata Almendarez.”
My eyes widened. Immaculata Almendarez had once gone aggressively after my husband before we married. And there was no love between us now.
“Immaculata is here?” I asked.
“She came with Epifania and her mother, Guadalupe. She and Epifania are friends.”
“I need to go,” I said to Blackwell. “While I’d love nothing more than to smack that bitch down again, there’s no way I’m up for Immaculata right now. Not after the stress I’ve been under lately.”
But before Blackwell could respond, Immaculata swung around the corner so she faced us. She smiled, tossed back her long, dark hair away from her face and over her shoulders, and started to come toward us in a gorgeous, sapphire-blue evening dress that I had to admit was to die for.
She was as beautiful as the last time I’d seen her months ago, when she threw a glass of champagne in my face at one of Henri Dufort’s parties. I’d slapped her twice for that. The press captured all of it and it made Page Six by morning. Not that I minded much. In front of me, she’d called Alex’s deceased wife a cunt. She’d had it coming to her.
I watched as she looked at me, absorbed me, dispensed with me, and then turned to Blackwell. “Last minute shopping?” she asked.
“I don’t do last minute anything,” Blackwell said. “But I have to say, Immaculata—I am surprised to see you here.”
“Why is that?”
“Perception. I’ve always sensed that you were more of a Macy’s kind of girl.”
“A what?”
“A girl who gravitates toward the sort of bargains that particular shopping hellhole tosses like flies at their customers’ feet. I could close my eyes right now and easily imagine you looking delighted while sifting through a pauper’s bin of polyester separates.”
“I doubt that, darling. Right now, I’m wearing Dior.”
“Wearing isn’t buying.”
“Oh, I’ll be buying.”
“You should rethink that, because the French obviously hate you. At the very least, that dress should be concealing the extra ten pounds you’re carrying. But then, I guess that’s what Spanx is for, isn’t it, darling?”
Immaculata swallowed that poison pill like a glass of purified water, and I had to give it to her—she was nothing if not cool. Then she looked at me. “Oh,” she said. “Jennifer Kent—and here at Bergdorf’s before it opens. Who would have thought?”
“That would be Jennifer Wenn, Immaculata.”
“Ahh, right—who could forget your clever, covert wedding to Alex?”
“There was nothing clever or covert about it.”
“From what I heard, it took place in Alex’s office behind closed doors.” She motioned toward Blackwell. “And that this one married you. All of it certainly sounds covert to me, Jennifer. And the fact that you won him is nothing if not clever given your basic roots. But congratulations. You must be thrilled to have landed yourself Alexander Wenn. It really is staggering, isn’t it?”
“What’s staggering?”
“How much you’ve come up in the world in such a short period of time. Think about it—from the pig farms of Maine to the penthouses of Manhattan.” She laughed. “Ironically, that also could be the title of your memoir.”
“At least I’ve lived a life that could fill the pages of one, Immaculata. Do you remember the first night we met—or were you too drunk to remember it?”
“I never get drunk.”
“Then at your age, dementia obviously has settled in, because otherwise you would have remembered it—and you also would have remembered what you said to me when I asked you what you did for a living. All you had to offer was that you went to parties, attended events, and sat on boards, and that you didn’t work because you considered work a different sort of four-letter word. What a life of riches you’ve led, Immaculata. What a bounty of embarrassments.”
“Oh, darling, I haven’t even peaked yet. That said, please give Alex my best. You know how close we were. A kiss on the cheek would be lovely of you. Just whisper my name in his ear when you do it.”
“And make him sick?”
“If he got sick, it would only be because Wenn is about to go into the toilet.”
“Like a sheep off to slaughter, your optimism knows know bounds.”
“Consider me a realist.”
“I consider you a bitch.”
She giggled at that. “You’re so common, Jennifer. You really are. Always have been—always will be.”
“By whose estimation?” Before she could speak, I charged forward and said, “I wouldn’t place any bets on Wenn going into the toilet, darling. It will be just fine.”
“Talk about optimism—yours knows no bounds. Perhaps that’s why Alex married you.”
“He married me because he fell in love with me, something you’ve yet to come to terms with. Oh, how you must writhe in desperation at night.” I shrugged at her, and then glanced at Blackwell. “And when you think about that, it really is kind of sad, isn’t it, Barbara?”
“Tears threaten to sting my eyes.”
“Talk to me about love in five years,” Immaculata said.
“I could talk to you about love right now, but you’d only look as if I’d just struck you dumb with a brick. So why bother?”
“Always so sharp.”
“Always so transparent.”
“So, let’s just get down to it,” she said. “I’m assuming you’re going to Dufort’s party tonight?”
“Why wouldn’t we be? He’s a dear friend. His father was Alex’s mentor.”
“You mean, after Alex’s father killed his wife, and then himself?”
“That’s right.”
“And here I thought that you and Alex would back out at the last minute, and stick your necks in the sand because of the shame he’s brought upon Wenn. So, lucky me—I get to see you twice in one day.”
“And at the very place where I first slapped you across the face—not that I’m above doing that again. How about if you and I make some more memories tonight, Immaculata? Why don’t you and I really have at it, and try for Page Six again?”
Before Immaculata could respond to that, Epifania came around the corner in a white dress that fit her so tightly, she looked like a stack of toilet paper that had been tipped into a tub of water. “Epifania go to party, too,” she said. “And you know how Epifania get at the parties, everyone. Epifania bring the vroom, vroom, vroom!”
“Is this really happening?” Blackwell said. “Or have I somehow died, and this is what a Mexican hell looks like?”
I looked at Epifania, and I felt sorry for her. She’d always been kind to me, and she was a nice girl. She was just in over her head in this world, and people like Immaculata, who likely befriended her because of her money, were determined to keep her clueless about how to behave in it.
“Barbara!” Epifania said as she walked toward us. “How you always look so pretty?”
Blackwell patted her bob. “Wheatgrass,” she said.
“Wee-Wha?”
“Health foods, Epifania. Ice. Roughage. Look into it.”
“How about the Cheeken Nugget? Epifania love the nugget—pink slime and all. She no care. Where Epifania come from, you eat every part of the animal, so why not the beak, the eyeball, and the asshole, too?”
“Epifania!” Immaculata scolded.
“Well, it true. I haven’t gone belly up yet.”
“You should consider a more healthy lifestyle,” Immaculata said.
“This from the woman whose head I pulled out of a toilet last week. Too much of the Goose. She got drunk, but Epifania and Mama Guadalupe help her out, so it all good—even if it was really bad.”
I watched the horrified expression that overcame Immaculata’s face as Epifania extended her arms to Blackwell, apparently oblivious to the tension thrumming between us. “I didn’ know you come this morning,” she said to Barbara. “What surprise. It been too long. Give Epifania a hug and a kiss.”
“I don’t hug. I don’t kiss. Ever.”
“Oh, come on. That right. Each cheek. We all better, no?”
“We’re fine, Epifania.”
“Good, because I can tell you this. You never know which way fart gonna blow when Epifania in the room.”
Blackwell blinked. “What does that even mean?”
“You don’ wanna find out. Mama Guadalupe make the beans for dinner last night. I took the Fartex, and I still not past the rumbling.”
“Where is your mother now?” Blackwell asked.
“She peeking up one of my messes.”
“You don’t say?”
“That what Mama Guadalupe paid to do. Good work if you can get it.”
“Can I ask you a question, Epifania?” said Blackwell.
“Sure.”
“Who picked that dress out for you?”
“Immaculata. She always have my back.”
“Or she’s stabbing a knife deep into it.” Blackwell turned to Immaculata, who suddenly looked on edge. “You chose this for her?”
“It’s one of many dresses I’ve chosen for her. This just happens to be the one she’s trying on now.”
“I can only imagine what the others look like. So, why this one?”
“I think it flatters her.”
“You and I both know better, girl.”
“That’s your opinion.”
“When it comes to fashion, my opinion rules in this city.”
“No ego there.”
“Oh, but it is there. And it’s been well earned. We’re about to see how powerful my opinion is.”
“What going on between you two?” Epifania asked. “You look like you going to get into a cock fight. Epifania see a few of those. They horrible. The blood and the heads being hacked off. The feathers plucked. They suck the big time.”
“We’re just talking about deceit, Epifania,” Blackwell said. “It’s nothing to worry about—and certainly nothing I can’t handle.”
“OK. Whatever.” She turned to me, and when she did, it was as if her face filled with light. “And look who else is here, Immaculata. Yennifer Wenn! She so pretty. Always so pretty. You know, Yennifer, I see you on the TV last night. You going through the hell right now, and Epifania feel bad about all of it. Sorry, cookie—but it sometime happen. But, hey, you look more pretty now than you did on the TV, so, you know, there’s that. What you here for?”
“Things,” Blackwell said, obviously wanting to put an end to this. “It was nice to see you, Epifania. But, please, allow me to do you the favor Immaculata is denying you.”
“What favor?”
“Give some thought to that dress. The white doesn’t suit you. Dior is good for you because Dior understands your curves, but my suggestion is that you go for black for a sleeker look. Straighten your hair. Have your makeup professionally done. And don’t listen to a word Immaculata says about any of it, because she’s not your friend. You may think that she is, but she isn’t. She’s probably only using you for your money.”
“Excuse me?” Immaculate said.
Blackwell ignored her. “That’s all for now,” she said to Epifania. “But heed my advice, Epifania. When Chloe is finished with us, seek her out to help you find the right dress.” Blackwell looked at Chloe, who had remained silent on the sidelines throughout all of this. “You will help her, won’t you, Chloe?”
“Of course.”
“And you’ll have an influence?”
She glanced fleetingly at Immaculata. “I’ll try my best.”
“I understand the challenge,” Blackwell said. “But do try. And when you do find her the right dress, put it on Wenn’s account—but don’t you dare make her look like a fool. Find something stunning, and have it properly fitted to her. She deserves that.”
Epifania just shook her head at Blackwell. “Why you being so nice to me? I just call you wicked witch and a beetch.”
“Because I know that I can be both. But I have a good idea that your impression of me came from someone else.” She looked hard at Immaculata, whose face had fallen into a seething pit of hatred. “Somebody has to be kind to you, Epifania. Somebody needs to tell you the truth. I just did. Do not, under any circumstances, take any advice from your frenemy, Immaculata.”
“What does ‘frenemy’ mean?”
“Someone who wants you to believe that you’re her friend, but who wants nothing but the worst for you.”
“That no Immaculata. She a queen in my world.”
“Unfortunately, you’ll learn better before you know it. Look, just let Chloe take over, and you will arrive at tonight’s party looking lovely. You are going, aren’t you?”
“Oh, yes. They always ask Epifania to come. They know she write the big checks.”
“I thought so.”
Blackwell snapped her fingers at Chloe, which gave her a start, and then she took me by the arm as the three of us walked past them.
“Goodbye,” Blackwell said. “And good luck. At least one of us will see both of you tonight. And I, for one, can’t wait to hear how things turn out for all involved.”
